


One More Step

by moonmoth (greyvvardenfell)



Series: Moth & Raven: Canon-Compliant [2]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: (sort of), Blood, F/M, Pre-Relationship, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27770707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyvvardenfell/pseuds/moonmoth
Summary: Julian and Reyja take shelter with Mazelinka.
Relationships: Apprentice/Julian Devorak
Series: Moth & Raven: Canon-Compliant [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2099187
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	One More Step

He can’t stop staring at me. Even in the near-darkness, with the only light spilling from the windows of the South End apartments we pass and the fading luminescence of the starstrand flower behind my ear, I can feel him looking me over, his arm resting lightly across my shoulders as he shepherds me through the twisting streets.

There isn’t much to say, really. Not after all we’ve just said. Tears still stain my cheeks, despite the gentle sweep of his thumb wiping them away before we left the little garden. My eyes feel swollen and my head aches from crying. At least the warm summer night dried the water from my clothes, but the bottom of my shirt is still crusted red; the skin beneath it is starting to itch as the blood dries and flakes off. I can only imagine Julian is similarly uncomfortable, since the leather of his jacket doesn’t even allow anything to soak in. A distant part of my mind flinches: he needed that kind of protection, against diseases of blood and bile, during the Plague. I wonder why he still wears the uniform of a plague doctor, but I suppose fugitives don’t have much of an opportunity to go shopping.

“Nearly there,” he says, gesturing towards a cottage at the end of a side-street. “She doesn’t have many neighbors, so we should be able to sneak right in.”

“It’s dark, though. Is she even home?”

He coughs, almost a laugh. “Erm, would it bother you if she wasn’t?”

I think for a moment. The idea of being sequestered in an empty house with him, alone and free to do whatever we feel inclined to do, is certainly appealing. But he’s still in trouble, and getting him inside, regardless of what happens after that, is my top priority. “I guess not. I won’t call the guards on you for breaking and entering again, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He laughs properly and pulls me closer. “You’re a delight, Reyja,” he says softly. It almost seems like he wants to kiss me, as strange as that is, but instead he swallows hard, cups my cheek, and smiles. “Give me just a moment and I’ll get the door. It won’t take long, but shout if there’s any trouble. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

I blush, grateful for the night that hides it though I’m sure he can feel my skin heat up beneath his palm. His touch lingers before he turns and vanishes around the side of the house. The moment he disappears, I scan the streets again. My eyes have long adjusted to the dark, but I don’t see anything. Maybe we evaded pursuit after all, if they ever even chased us beyond the reservoir pool in the first place.

I hear a solid thump and the squawk of a chicken, and then the warm glow of a gas lantern illuminates the cottage. Julian’s stunning profile becomes a silhouette as the door peeps open. 

It's cozy inside: a line of cupboards and countertops set into the crumbling stone wall form a little kitchenette, with a small table in the corner that serves as both dining area and living room. The lantern hangs on a hook above a washbasin, nestled between the shelves. Julian strides across the room and pulls out a chair for me, the soft golden shadows of the lamplight playing in his curls.

He may be able to look at me, but I can’t look at him. Not like this. 

“Please sit down, my dear, and I'll whip up some dinner for us. You’ve had quite a night,” he says.

 _My dear._ There’s so much tenderness in those words. “You have, too."

He rubs my shoulder before returning to the kitchen. “Oh, I’ll be fine. I always am.”

Is he? I've been able to feel the weight of the pain he carries, barely disguised by his easy laughter and confidence, almost since we met. Maybe the search for Asra was the first thing on his list, but there has to be more of a reason to return to the city that tried to kill him. Convicted murderers don’t usually do that.

“What happened?” I ask quietly. 

He emerges from one of the cupboards with some rust-colored potatoes in one hand and a small knife in the other. “Hm?”

I take a long breath. In all the time we’ve spent talking, we haven’t broached this subject yet. But I think I have to know. Not for Nadia and her manhunt, but for him. My loyalties have already shifted, fully and completely. “Why are you here?”

Julian freezes. Anger and shame and fear cloud his face before he turns away, clenching his knuckles around the handle of the little kitchen knife. “In Vesuvia,” he says tightly. It isn’t a question.

“You were free. Why would you risk it?”

He sighs and leans heavily against the counter, his back to me. He’s quiet for several heartbeats before he laughs and drops the knife to run his fingers through his hair. “I was never free, Reyja. I escaped a death sentence. That isn’t the sort of thing authorities forget about.”

“Did someone come after you?”

“No, no. I don’t think they dared to.” With another bitter laugh, he sits down across from me. “You’ve heard the story, haven’t you? Of what I did? Or do they not tell it anymore, in case horrible Doctor Jules swoops in and burns them to a crisp?”

“Of course I have.” That’s why I’m here, after all. 

“Well, then. Isn’t that reason enough?”

“Did you do it?”

I don’t think he was expecting me to ask so bluntly. He blinks, a scowl lingering on his brow, and deflates. “I don’t know.”

He shakes his head and pushes on. “Why don’t I know? I don’t know that either. What I _do_ know is that I woke up in a prison cell with a murderer’s brand and a whole city in turmoil because of me. I can’t remember what happened. They told me, of course: the Count was burned alive and they caught me at the scene, the only one there. It must have been me. And I’m not saying they’re wrong, I just don’t know.”

I met this man all of five days ago. I would bet my life that he did not kill Count Lucio.

“I tried to run,” he continues. “I did run. For three years, I’ve been running. Ha, coming back here might be as much of a death sentence as the one I so narrowly avoided, but I have to know.”

We sit quietly as his words settle into the stone floor. Currents of distress and regret electrify the room, radiating out of him. From his expression and the slope of his shoulders, I can tell that he’s already made up his mind: whether he did it or not, he thinks he’s guilty. 

“I’ll help you.”

He shoots upright, alarm replacing dejection. “Oh, Reyja, no. I can’t let you do that.”

“Let me?” I narrow my eyes. “I’m already doing it, aren’t I?”

“For the palace, not for—”

“You really think I would choose Nadia over you?”

“You’ll be in terrible danger if I—”

“Julian.” I lean towards him and take both of his hands in mine. His brand feels rough under my fingers, scar tissue and ink combining to mark him forever. He flushes when our eyes meet. “Please let me help.”

He can’t seem to find it in him to either dissuade or encourage me. 

It takes me a moment to realize how we’re sitting. The two of us, holding hands in a cramped but cozy kitchen, bathed in the light and scent of a home. This ceiling is too low for him, and this table too small, but the sheer domesticity sweeps through me like a storm. He was about to start chopping vegetables. I could come up behind him as he works, slide my arms around his slender waist and press a kiss to his chin, careful not to disturb him in case he cuts himself. But even if he did, I could help him wash and bandage it, and finish making dinner myself while he watches with affection spilling from his every pore. 

The vision strikes so suddenly, and with such detail, that it almost feels like a premonition.

He’s looking at me again. Slowly, slowly, his anguish melts away. Maybe he can feel it too, the pull of what could be. There’s a speck of blood on his cheek; I wonder if it’s mine. I let go of his hand to wipe it away and he leans into my touch, his eye fluttering closed as my fingers trail along his jaw.

“Reyja,” he breathes. 

Before I can answer, the door slams open and the moment flickers out like a candle.

Julian scrambles to his feet so quickly that he bangs his head on the ceiling, sending a shower of dust into his hair. I know we aren’t in danger when the newcomer laughs, loud and raucous, and clicks her tongue as she shuffles into the kitchen.

“You’re going to break a hole in my roof one of these days, Ilyushka,” she says.

“A remodel I highly recommend, if only so my back doesn't hurt after every visit,” he replies, stooping to hug her.

“This house existed long before you did. You should’ve thought about that before you got so tall.”

“Of course, how silly of me.”

The small woman laughs again, then catches sight of me. “And who’s this?” 

Julian smiles and moves to stand behind me. “Mazelinka, meet Reyja. Reyja, Mazelinka.”

“Hm.” Mazelinka eyes me up and down. I notice that she lingers on the blood spattering my shirt, and doesn’t miss Julian’s hand resting on my shoulder, idly stroking my neck with his thumb. “Get tangled up with him, then, did you?”

“I guess I did.” I’m about to add that I don’t regret it, but Mazelinka snorts and rolls her eyes. 

“If you’re here, it must’ve been quite the tangle. How many guards are after you this time, Ilya?”

“We shook them in the alleys off the market street.”

“And yet here you are.”

“Erm…” Julian trails off and shifts nervously.

“You used it.”

Her voice is hard, flinty. Accusatory. 

“I had to! She would’ve… would’ve…”

Mazelinka fixes her gaze on me again. “I’ll get a clearer story out of you, I think.”

“Um.” I don’t know why I feel compelled to answer her, but I suppose we’re putting her at risk by even being here, so she might as well know. “We ran into each other at the old aqueduct pool.”

“The one with the eels?”

“Yeah. Some guards were up there too and I think they saw us. I fell in when we were trying to get away.”

Julian interjects. “It’s my fault. I was— I wanted to— I took a risk, and Reyja paid for it.”

That’s new. I glance up at him. He already told me that he blames himself, but I made mistakes too.

“Hmph. She got bitten?”

“Nothing else I tried was working.” Julian’s grip tightens, like we’re still beside the reservoir and he’s pulling me from the water again. “I had to.”

Mazelinka sighs and unwraps her shawl, hanging it on a hook near the door. “I suppose so. Have you eaten?”

“No, I—”

“Sit.”

To my surprise, Julian comes around the table again and plunks back into his chair.

“Why do I even let you leave this house, foolish child.”

He winces. “I don’t live here—”

Mazelinka says something in Neviv, cutting him off. His jaw drops and he stutters a response in the same language, then looks at me as his cheeks flush. Before he can translate, if he even wants to, Mazelinka beckons for me to join her in the kitchen. 

“Let me tell you something, Reyja. That trick of his, healing you, it takes more out of him than he will ever admit.”

That’s not good. “How so?”

She scoffs. “Give him another half hour and he’ll be stumbling around like the walking dead, still slurring at you that he’s fine, he’s fine, don’t worry about him, until he passes out in the gutter.”

Julian bristles. “I’ve never—!”

Mazelinka silences him with a single pointed glare. “You need to make him rest before he goes off raising hell again. But don’t worry: I get the sense he’ll listen to you,” she says, and I blush just as brightly as Julian did. She might as well have walked in on us kissing, if she can already see how much he means to me. And how much I mean to him, apparently. “Now, you dice up those potatoes. I have herbs to gather.”

She’s out the door before I can respond. With nothing better to do, I pick up the kitchen knife and get started.

After a moment, Julian hauls himself up from the table and joins me at the counter. His hand brushes mine as he reaches for another knife. Even that glancing contact sets my heart hammering, so loud I’m sure he can hear it. It was one thing for _us_ to acknowledge whatever we have, but now it’s so obvious that a stranger can tell right away. Well, she’s a stranger to me, at least. Julian clearly knows her well.

“Who is Mazelinka? To you, I mean.”

He chuckles, not looking at me. “I suppose you could call her my foster mother, but don’t let her hear you say that. She’s no one’s mommy, is what she says. But she raised me, and Pasha, from when we were very young.”

 _I’m already meeting his parents?_ “Is that why she calls you ‘Ilya?’”

“Mm. Most Nevivs do. I didn’t change my name until I finished my apprenticeship, and I was already in my early twenties by then. It always seemed like too much trouble to correct them.”

I frown. “Does it bother you?”

“Oh, no, not at all. It’s a reminder of home, if nothing else, though it certainly has a way of making me feel like a child.”

We lapse into silence again, the strike of our knives against the solid countertop filling the small room. Being around him has never felt awkward, but it’s verging on that now.

As he reaches for another potato, I see him tremble. I think he knows I see it too, because he clears his throat and shifts away from me.

“Julian?”

He doesn’t answer. I put my hand over his to stop his next chop and he meets my eyes at last.

“Reyja, I’m—”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He looks even paler than usual, the purple half-circles under his eyes more pronounced.

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

I have to laugh. “We’re well past that, I think. What did Mazelinka say, that we're ‘tangled up’ now?”

He laughs too, but sobers quickly. “It isn’t fair to put my nonsense on you.”

“It wasn’t fair to put mine on you, either.”

“Nothing you shared with me was nonsense, my dear.”

I turn to face him, and he mirrors me. His fingers mesh so perfectly with mine, like our hands were molded to fit together. But even as I peer up at him, he sways, unsteady on his feet like he’s about to faint. I catch him and he startles, waking up again.

“I’m sorry,” he says, embarrassed by his exhaustion. “I should’ve told you, warned you, that this could happen. That I might be a bit of a mess afterwards.”

I don't think there was any "might" about it, but if I berate him, he’ll flee, retreating into self-hatred and shame. I should know: that’s what I would do. And in any case, I’m not angry. I get it, even if I wish neither of us were like that. “What would help you right now?” I ask softly. “It can be the smallest little thing, even if you think it’s too small to matter.”

Guilt passes over his face like a shadow. I can hear his mind screaming at him, insisting that he doesn’t need help, damn it, and wouldn’t deserve it anyway. But he smiles, after a moment, and glances towards the door. “The herbs Mazelinka's after are for some sort of potion she makes. It’s wonderful, peps me right up. I think I’ll be alright after that, ahh… as long as you’re with me.”

\------

We finish chopping up the potatoes, and add some carrots and cabbage Julian found in another cupboard. He hauls a pot down from one of the higher shelves and lets it fill in the basin, then shifts it over to the stove so it can boil. He also sheds his heavy overcoat, though he insists upon staying in uniform. But he points out another door and says that I can try rinsing the blood from my shirt in the washroom.

I hear Mazelinka’s voice as I return. They’re speaking Neviv again, but switch back to Vesuvian for my benefit. 

“Ilya tells me you do magic,” she says, examining me with new interest.

“Um, yeah. I own the shop on the corner of the big market square.”

“I know your ashroot supplier, then. Reshmi used to live around here, before she and her partners moved up-city.”

I like Reshmi, though I wouldn’t say we were friends; I see her once a month at the most. “I think she’s planning to move again,” I tell Mazelinka. “Her wife is expecting twins and her girlfriend is going to help raise them, I guess. She bought some rose quartz and selenite last time she came in, to help her stay calm.”

Mazelinka makes a thoughtful noise. “I’ll mix up some mallo tea and send it to them, then. Makes for an easier birth.”

I brace myself for more discussion of pregnancy, though it makes me nauseous to even think about, but the water’s boiling enough to add the vegetables and Mazelinka gets distracted. She measures out a generous helping of lentils and throws open another cupboard to grab several jars of spices, tipping dashes and sprinkles of each one into the pot. I hope she won’t make it too spicy, but the scent makes my mouth water. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.

Julian paces at the edge of the kitchen, watching the door like he expects the guards to burst in at any moment. I catch him on one circuit and intertwine our fingers again, pulling him back to the table. Though he smiles gratefully at me, he still seems anxious.

“This will take a bit,” Mazelinka says abruptly, without turning around. “Reyja, will you be staying the night?”

I knew that’s what I was agreeing to when I came with him, but for some reason the reality of it doesn’t sink in until now. Sleeping in an unfamiliar house, with a man I more or less just met… if the me of a month ago could see this, she’d think it was a cruel joke. “If there’s room.”

Julian squeezes my hand, a silent thank you.

“Of course there’s room. Ilya, why don’t you show her?”

“The hiding hole?”

I’m not sure I like the sound of that.

“No, you fool boy. The bedroom. I’ll take the hole tonight.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly—”

“You can and you will.”

He doesn’t argue again. Instead, he stands and guides me with him, angling towards a curtain next to the washroom door. Behind it is a single bed covered by a patchwork quilt and a nightstand with another lantern. Julian pauses just inside and lets the curtain fall behind him, separating us from the main room and Mazelinka’s knowing smirk.

“This is a real treat, you know,” he says casually. “Usually it’s the hole for me, and I wake up with a crick in my neck that lasts for days.”

Despite his nonchalance, he seems almost rooted to the spot, like walking closer to the bed would be untoward. But he’s bubbling with excitement just below the surface. It's infectious.

I take another step, pausing to turn up the lantern so I can see him properly, and glance over my shoulder. He almost passed out less than an hour ago, and I don't think he wants Mazelinka to know that. Despite his eagerness, I need to make sure he's okay for the moment. "Does the wound still hurt?"

Julian cocks his head. “The…? Oh! Right, the eel bite. No, my dear, it’s good as new. Ahh…” His eye flickers to the side and back to me. He’s blushing again, but a cheeky grin eclipses it. “Would you like to see?”

I sit down on the bed. Is this why he waited to take off his uniform, so we could be alone? We aren’t _very_ alone, though, with only a single drape of cloth separating us from the woman who raised him. He’s bold, I’ll give him that, and he seems to have recovered at least a little bit for the time being. “Okay.”

The snaps on one side of his uniform are caked in blood, but he pops them open anyway and lets his leather jacket fall. His billowy white shirt is stained beyond help, I think; with nowhere else to go, the blood spread up across his chest, and it’s been there long enough to soak into the fabric. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, and pulls it over his head without a second glance. He’s right about the wound: I can’t see even a faint remnant of the gashes he took from me, or any other sign that he'd bled enough to ruin his shirt. But I’d much rather look at the rest of him.

He’s muscular like archers are, most of it in his shoulders and arms. I can see swaths of freckles across his skin even in the low light. Thick auburn hair trails down his chest and abdomen, teasing me where it disappears behind his wide belt. The idea that I should reciprocate and take my shirt off too flashes through my mind, but I recoil from it. He’s so lean, so handsome, I would just embarrass myself in comparison. 

He sits beside me and rests one hand on my thigh, just like he did in the garden. “Thank you for coming with me, Reyja. I'm so grateful, in fact, that I don’t think I can say how much.”

My stomach flips over. “Thank you for asking if I would.”

“Mazelinka likes you.”

“You think?”

He laughs, deep in his throat. “She would’ve thrown you out otherwise.”

“That’d be a weird decision. What if I just went to the guards and told them where you were?”

“Good thing she didn’t, then, hm?”

I can feel his heart thrumming just beneath his ribs. Mine matches, nervous but excited. His hand creeps closer, like he wants to touch my belly again. Or lower. “I would never do that to you,” I say softly.

Julian lifts my chin with a brush of his fingers. Sitting, our height difference doesn’t matter nearly as much. A sly voice tells me that it would matter even less lying down. He’s looking at me like he never wants to look at anything else... like I'm something worth looking at. 

Just before our lips touch, Mazelinka shoulders past the curtain with our soup. When she stifles a snicker, I’m almost positive she planned to interrupt like that. Julian flushes a brilliant crimson and drops his hand from my neck, though he leaves the other where it is on my leg.

“Eat up first,” Mazelinka says. I choose not to acknowledge what she means by _first_ : my stomach is knotted enough already. She hands each of us a bowl and leaves again. 

I really am hungry. And Julian’s right: this is delicious. Whatever herbs Mazelinka put in it made the broth turn silky gold, and I can taste turmeric and ginger behind the subtle hint of green magic. We chopped the vegetables finely enough that I can just drink them down, so I’m done quickly, surprisingly full. I wonder if she would give me this recipe: the warm contentment that’s slowly replacing my nerves justifies the hassle of cooking.

Mazelinka returns as we finish and takes our bowls. She stoops to grab Julian’s shirt and jacket, too, tutting at the bloodstain. “The things you get yourself into,” she grumbles. 

He starts to apologize, but she shakes her head. 

“Ah-ah. You ate, now you sleep. Got that?”

Sleep. Right.

“Now, Mazelinka, you know me. I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

She purses her lips. “I’ll hear it if you aren’t.”

Now it’s my turn to blush, but Julian laughs. Maybe the soup is working on him, too. He's looking at me again like Mazelinka isn’t even here. 

She seems to take that as her cue to leave. “I have things to do in the morning, so don’t you expect another free meal.”

“I don’t even expect this one to be free. I’ll leave some gold on the—”

“You absolutely will not.” With a rustle of the curtain, she’s gone. I hear Julian’s clothes drop to the floor, and the sound of a trapdoor opening and closing. 

“Do you think I should leave something anyway?” he asks me, smiling.

“Couldn’t hurt.”

“Oh yes it could. She’d track me down wherever I was and thump me to within an inch of my life if I had the audacity to pay her for her generosity. And, ahh, and she’s not the one I’d like to be thumped by.”

Oh. _Oh_. Oh, he’s insatiable. And the grin on his face deserves to be kissed.

He melts into me, cupping the back of my head to draw me closer. I taste the tingle of magic on his lips, his tongue, and I know he tastes it too. He whimpers softly as he wraps his arms around me, nearly pulling me into his lap. I’m not sure how I imagined my first kiss would be, but I don’t think I could’ve imagined this. For once, I’m almost happy I’ve never experienced it before: waiting for him was worth it.

After an infinite moment, he pauses, tucking my hair behind my ear. "Anything you need to do before we…?"

I should probably go wash my face, use the bathroom, get my boots off. Take the fading flower from my hair. My shirt cleaned up nicely, but it's still a little damp. And maybe I should— uh oh. No, no, no, the soothing effect of the soup is already fading and my nerves redouble, bringing doubt and shame with them. I realize that I could think of a thousand little excuses to put off doing anything else, anything more, with him.

But I want to! I want to do more!

Don't I?

Damn it, I should stop thinking, is what I really need to do.

He senses my confidence waver and lets go of me. I want him back immediately. 

"Not that, erm. Not that we'll _do_ anything, of course. Before bed, I mean. We both need to sleep, right?"

 _I'm so sorry, Julian._ "Yeah."

"Ahh…" 

I meet his gaze when he trails off. It's molten; I wasn't expecting that.

"I'm not making you uncomfortable, am I? Please, please tell me if I am. That's the last thing I want, believe me. I'd, ah… This is nice. You, here. Having you here. Being with you."

"I'm sorry, I—"

"No, no, you have nothing to apologize for." He presses a gentle kiss to each of my palms, the inside of each wrist. The butterflies in my stomach swirl alarmingly fast in response. "It's more than enough to be able to kiss you. I must say I've wanted to do that for a while now."

I don't know why I'm stunned. He said as much the last time we were sitting together, beneath the glow of the starstrand. 

"I hope I'm not coming on too strong," he says quietly. "I've been told I do that sometimes, but, oh, I can't help it. I want to make something with you, something real and strong and beautiful. Like you are."

"So do I," I murmur. I want that more than I've ever wanted anything else, I think. But I'm scared of it all the same. "It's just that I haven’t, um…"

"I know. And I'll never ask for… We'll go as fast as you want, my dear. That I can promise."

 _No, you'll have to push me. Even if I want to, and I_ do _want to, I don't think I'll be able to take that step._ "Thank you." 

"Of course. Err, I can ask Mazelinka to take my place, if you'd rather. I don't really mind the hole."

"No!" If I'm going to sleep beside someone, it'll be him. "No, um. No."

He stares at me for a second, then chuckles. "I can't say I'm unhappy to hear that."

God, I want him. I want to be able to have him without my mind shrieking at me that I can't. And maybe someday, I will. 

But not tonight.

"Go take care of yourself, sweetheart," he says gently, sweeping his fingers along my cheek. "Then we'll settle down."

"Okay." My throat's tight again; I can feel tears brewing. Why can't I do this, even when it would be so easy? Why couldn't that soup have lasted just a little bit longer? I know as soon as I step in, I'll be swept away and never look back. But I'm too scared to take the plunge. After all, I have so many opportunities to mess this up. I may be well on the way to messing it up now.

I slip out from behind the curtain and make my way over to the washroom in the dim light of the kitchen lantern, turned low for the night. No. I want this too badly to mess up. When I return to him, I'll be brave. I'm not going to think about how small that bed is, how close to him I'll have to be without giving him what I know he wants. I want it, too, but… This is new ground for me, and there's no one I'd rather tread it with, but… I trust him, more than I've ever trusted anyone, but… There's always a but. Damn it, there's always a but.

I meet my own eyes in the cloudy mirror over the basin, barely illuminated by the starstrand and the lamp in the next room. _Be brave_ , I tell myself harshly. Like that has ever worked. I know I should be grateful that Julian's letting me lead this dance, but… but. 

He's too precious to lose. In the short time we've known each other, he's changed me. For the better and for good. But I still have no idea what I'm doing with a man like him. I don't understand what he sees in me, why he would trouble himself when I have so little to offer in return. I guess I don't have to know. Maybe I'll find out, though, if I can just take one more step.

I'm going to go back to him. And I'm going to be honest: I'm scared, not of him but of the process. Of my own fear, even. But I'm going to tell him that I want him anyway.

If I keep thinking, I'll talk myself out of it.

No I won't.

Yes I will.

I scrub my face clean and rinse out my mouth. I wish I could keep the flower, but I have nowhere to put it. Maybe I'll leave it here on the basin and grab it in the morning. I wish I had a toothbrush, but it is what it is. We've already kissed once, I guess. I leave my boots by the door as I pass, beside his. Like this is our home.

When I reach the curtain, I hesitate. But only for a moment. All I need to do is take one more step.

_Here goes._


End file.
